What's for (Thanksgiving) dinner?

Part of this post is to take a moment and reminisce about all my favorite Thanksgiving foods (aka starchy foods). Part of this post is to remind people that in between Halloween and Christmas there is a holiday that may not have all the glitzy songs or decorations, but has what I consider to be most important: kick ass food.

This week is Thanksgiving and I for one am most excited to pile a load of cheesy, sweet, deliciously comforting carbs on a plate and devour it. It's the one tradition of Thanksgiving that I've been able to keep. As a kid, we didn't have a ton of Thanksgiving traditions. In fact, the only tradition seemed to be that we got together, which looking at it now seems like a good tradition to keep.

The Wrye Family Thanksgiving included getting up and going to both sets of grandparents. Some times we went to my mom's family first. Sometimes, my dad's. It just depended on when my mom's set decided to do something. My dad's side, aka my Grandma Wrye, always had dinner ready about 4 p.m., complete with setting off the smoke detector. Thanksgiving wasn't really Thanksgiving unless one of my tall, male relatives was reaching up to take the 9-volt out of the detector at some point. Never for anything big. Usually just some forgotten rolls. In the end, it was the BEST.

My mom's side, on the other hand, makes dinner for other people 363 other days a year as they own a restaurant. So my grandpa would insist that my grandma not cook a big meal. Sometimes she listened and we ate pizza. Sometimes she didn't and we had all the fixins. Toward the later years, my grandpa made sure my grandma didn't cook and made reservations for us to eat together. That was also awesome and the best. Again, the theme being that we actually got to see each other.

But as I got older and my time off was saved for the "big" holidays and people became more scattered, sometimes the only "Thanksgiving meal" I would get would be from the potluck at work (which is actually the smartest way to do it. Our office would pay for a precooked turkey and everyone brought in everything else. For the price of one dish (or bag of rolls if you were really lazy), you could get a full Thanksgiving meal.)

Now I'm fighting to keep Thanksgiving. It's hardly worth it to go all out for a full dinner for just the two of us
when I know the leftovers will never get eaten. So, I've picked my favorite carb and his and we'll dine on them. It will be delicious, if turkey-free. Maybe I'll get a pumpkin pie too. I love me some pumpkin pie. Or better yet, some Pumpkin Delight from The Pub (pumpkin cheesecake + pumpkin pie=heaven.)

What's your favorite Thanksgiving food?

I Wanna Catch Fire

I'm gonna wait until Sunday morning, because that's how we do, but I am so ready to see "Hunger Games: Catching Fire." The first one was just so-so, I gotta admit. The books take place so much in Katniss's head that it seemed unlikely that it would be able to be translated into a movie in a cohesive way. And I was kinda right. There were some big holes in the first one.

But hope springs eternal and the second book is set up more outside the head and in the moment, so it lends itself to being a better movie. Plus the along with the rest of the nation, I have a girl crush on Jennifer Lawrence.

Fingers crossed, it rocks. Or else Chef may boycott the third one. (But he probably would still go because he loves me.)

My Magic Number

Remember when you were a child and your parents would insist you "say the magic word" and then you'd say "please" in a sing-songy voice like they'd just pulled a string on your back. Whatever you wanted would suddenly happen because of that magic word.

My magic number is kind of like that, but only in that it spurs action. My magic number is a weight that I hit that literally and figuratively hits me in the gut until my spontaneous reactions are guilt and shame. . .and exercise.

Last week, I hit my magic number. I'm sure other people have their own magic numbers. Especially if you've ever lost weight before. I vowed while in the middle of the struggle that I'd never weigh over XXX lbs again  but that number slid up 5 lbs or so when I decided that my apathy was overtaking my need to look decent in clothing.

However, the aforementioned guilt and shame mixed with a pre-work breakdown while selecting an outfit that seemed to look better just a few weeks ago was enough for me to REALLY start logging my calories again in myfitnesspal. Not the fake logging that I do where I start the day strong, but by 3 p.m. conveniently get temporary amnesia about my mid-afternoon M&M gorge or that Venti (which I swear is Italian for BIG ASS) latte with SUGAR! and a side of extra sugar.

The magic number has been hit and my apathy has instantly turned into action. Calories are watched closer than Kim Kardashian by the paparazzi! The gym is left with the funky combination of my morning breath from my panting and my sweat.

And in a few months, the work will payoff. It has before. It will again. Except maybe this time I'll drop my magic number by 15 lbs so I don't let it get this far.

Remind me that I said that in a year when I'm reaching for another cupcake.

One of these Things Does Not Belong Here

I had another City Council meeting today and it did not disappoint in term of things to see. Which of  the following did NOT occur:

• A full American Indian tribe doing a chant and dance
• A man in a batman mask at the podium advocating for something or another
• A homeless looking man saying the "Indians didn't sound like Indians. They sounded more like Hawaiians."
• A small dog named Lola being featured for adoption during the meeting

If you said ALL OF THE ABOVE, you are correct.

Seriously, go to a city council meeting sometime. Instant entertainment. 

Last Day in Hollywood

Well, kind of. Our office is moving from Hollywood Boulevard to Westwood on Friday. And because I'm out of the office for the rest of the week, this was probably my last time in the office (barring something catastrophic that I forgot). I've only been in Hollywood for about 16 months, but that was enough. The novelty of having the Walk of Fame just outside our office wore off after a few times of trying to trudge through crowds of tourists that were blocking the sidewalks to take a photo.

I will also not miss the miscellaneous road closures, the daily religious mob that chanted every day at noon (which signified lunch for us), and the most exotic lunch option being the California Pizza Kitchen.

We move to Westwood. I'm excited to get to know a new neighborhood, especially one so close to UCLA. And for me, the difference is pretty negligible in terms of commute, which is essential in LA. And I think that this office will even have an outside facing window, which is awesome. Oh and the fact that there's an actual loading dock and I won't have semi-drivers drop off my convention gear in the middle of a street because they can't find parking, will be an added bonus.

So as I left today, I was sad that I will probably not be back there a whole lot, but happy to not be going back there a whole lot.

Westwood ho!

Getting Kind of Excited And Terrified

I have officially finished hand editing my novel and I have to say that it doesn't look as bad as I thought it would. Are there some big sections of boring prose and little progress? Why yes, yes there are. Are those sections easily cut or rewritten to better fit into the entirety of the story? Why yes, yes they are. Considering I started writing this novel in pieces that weren't not necessarily in chronological order and I wasn't sure if I what I wrote would end up making much sense, I can say that I was pleasantly surprised.

So now I'm adding my edits into the computer and adding some touches before I send it to a few trusted people to read through before...DUM DUM DUM...trying to find an agent. My goal is to theoretically have something workable to send out by January 1st. I'll be using this time to not only polish the roughness of the manuscript down a little more, but also to mentally prepare myself for the agony of being rejected constantly.

I don't know if anyone takes rejection well, and I am no exception. I especially have a hard time if the rejection is coming towards something I care about and needless to say, I care about my writing. Even when I try to pretend I don't.

What I really fear is that this thing will get looked at and people will think it needs a major overhaul. Which means that I'll be rocking myself quietly in the corner for a month or so. As much as I love this novel, I'm also ready to start working on something else, too. Meaning that I need to have some time devoted to the new characters in my head. Unless that's schizophrenia, but then that would present before I turned 30, so I think it's just new characters.

Wish me luck!

I Believe I Can Fly...So I Did

Just off the ground

I have always wanted to skydive...except for the whole jumping out a plane part. I always thought that if I could fly without having to do something so inherently against my natural level-headedness it would be worth it.

When we were looking for apartments on a trip out to LA years ago, I was flipping through the promotional channel of attractions on the hotel cable channel and BAM! The answer to my request was right there. Indoor Skydiving. Simulated skydiving. Fake skydiving. Whatever you want to call it. A few months back a work friend was talking about wanting to fly but having the aversion to the whole plane-jumping thing and I mentioned the indoor skydiving. She was totally down for doing it.

Now flash forward last week to a staff meeting where a co-worker said she couldn't use her invite to a HR party at the indoor skydiving place and did any of us want to go, eat free Brazilian food and try out the wind tunnel.

Um, yes. That would be us over here please.

So last night my friends Meredith, Alexis and I went to iFly at Universal City Walk, ate some Brazilian ribs, and then suited up to fly. We got an adorable (and aspiring actor-SHOCKER) instructor. I think that being an attractive guy must be a prerequisite to being an instructor there because everywhere we looked there was a tall, handsome man who made flight suits look good leading a group of awkward-looking adults in goggles into the wind tunnel.

On our way or down with Ian, the instructor, photo bombing

Anyway, cute-as-a-button Ian gave us the hand signals and then lead us one by one into the booth where we flew up and down and then he grabbed our waists and walked us up on the wall of the tunnel so that we were about 2 stories up flying.

It was AWESOME.

And I think from the look of pure joy on my face you can tell I had a good time. I even paid money to get those pictures, but it was well worth it.The tunnel is out in the middle of City Walk, so as you're in there, there are a bunch of tourists that are taking pictures. I thought I would care more about that. I didn't.

I liked it so much that I might actually do it and PAY FOR IT next time. As opposed to a free corporate events cultivation party.

"Is this Diet?": My Eternal Struggle

I knew the water was "diet," but
the fountain drink? Argh.

I have an addiction. On the scale of all addictions, it's on the lower end, but it's mine and therefore it clearly matters to me.

My name is Ashley and I'm addicted to cola products.

For those of you who actually know me, this is not a surprise at all. I am rarely at a meal without bubbles tickling my nose. I say "cola products" or "frosty carbonated beverages" but my tastes are fairly consistent. I prefer the diet variety. Diet Dr. Pepper, Coke Zero, Diet Coke, Diet Mountain Dew, all are acceptable. I have my preferences, but in a pinch, I'll even drink a Diet Pepsi. Usually with a sneer after I've had the following conversation with a waiter or waitress.

Me: I'll have a Diet Coke.

Waiter/waitress: We serve Pepsi products. Is that okay?

Me: Not really. Do you have Diet Mountain Dew?

Waiter/waitress: No. We have Diet Pepsi.

Me: Ugh. Fine. Okay. I'll take it.

And I drink it nonetheless. Don't think that my cola consumption is exclusive. Frankly, I'm just a regularly thirsty girl. The hypochondriac in me will wonder if I've got diabetes, but then I get my blood sugar taken and I don't. I even make a deal with myself that I can't have a cola until I've had at least 32 oz of water in the morning. This usually happens. Less so on the weekends.

All this to get say that I'm fairly attuned to the taste of colas and I got one today from the McDonald's across from work. McDonald's fountain drinks are the best. They're like the absolutely best way to drink a soda. I'd say that even if they weren't a client. In fact, I think I have. Anyway, a few sips in and I'm starting to panic "Is this diet?". I don't drink calories unless it's a spinach smoothie, so this is really gripping me.

Of course, it's either go without or down the drink that may or may not be diet, so I did what any addict would do: drank the thing and lived in denial.

I Was Moved to Tears, but It Was Probably Hormones

An actual scene from Grand Theft Auto 5-- do bikes count?

You know how things that are supposed to move you to tears or emotion don't and then you feel like you have a heart of stone? That happens to me a lot.

But then sometimes a story that is sad but maybe not earth-shattering just tears me to pieces. That happened to me last night. I was scrolling through my Facebook feed and ran across a Gawker story about a mentally-challenged 21 year old from Florida who had been robbed. That sucks what really got me was that he was robbed of Grand Theft Auto 5, the newest, hottest version of the video game, moments after he went to pick up from the store where he had placed a pre-order and been paying it off in weekly installments of $10 or $20. He had just left the store when a couple asked him for the time and then beat him up to take the game.

It's a sad story, yes, but why it brought tears to my eyes, I can't really explain. I just imagined myself as a kid working hard and saving my allowance to get something and then having someone beat me up for it before I could enjoy it. The couple who robbed the man was arrested, but they had already sold the stolen game. Last night, I just wanted to buy the guy the damn video game, and hoped the Internet would make it right.

I'm happy to say today that the victim has gotten a copy. Hopefully he got it home safely.

My Blog Wouldn't Be The Same Without Poop-related Posts

Those of you who really know and love me, know that I have a long history with poop. In just about every sense of the word possible. In that light, my friend Meredith sent me this video and  had to post it. 

It was my duty. 

You're welcome. 

I Went to San Diego and Came back With Photos...and Allergies

There's something about clean, ocean air that doesn't agree with me because I was in San Diego for three days, two nights (on a work-related trip that included some delicious food) and by day three was so clogged that I was begging for the ability to breathe.

Two days after being back and I'm still draining, which is as lovely as it sounds. The one bonus is that my body is exhausted so I'm going to bed before 10 p.m. and skipping my morning run for more sleep. At least it's Friday.

In case you needed proof that I'm alive since I've been ignoring this blog for two weeks, here are the best things that I brought back from San Diego:

This was the view of a little cove next to the restaurant where we had some of the best shrimp and bananas foster cake I've ever had in my life. What's not captured is the loud moaning of seals in the cave that echoed out. 

If you look closely on the rock, you can spot three seals. Do you see them?

My favorite picture. It was a pretty sunset and the wine was good. Sometimes I forget that I live here.
This is a great reminder. 

This is August 29th to Me

My brother, Mother and I circa 1980.

Today an insane day at work. Crazy. Nuts. Unlike any I've really experienced before. There was chaos. There was organization. There was drama. And of course, there was media there to capture it all.

However, in the middle of all that, I still had a moment this afternoon when I noted the time, my place in the world and had the one thought that comes over me every year on August 29th:

This is the day that my mother died.

Each year the day seems to sneak up on me more than the last. It isn't marked in red on the calendar and dreaded for weeks as it once was. But it still has some power, this day. After 13 years, it still is enough to make me pause and reflect, even if it's just for a moment in a hectic day or for a blog post at the end of it.

I miss my mom. This is not unique to anyone who has lost their mom. Or any parent, family, friend or loved one who meant a lot to them. I know this.

But I think back to 13 years ago. Not on this day, but on one of the many good days before it that we talked. I don't think either of us had any clue that I would end up in Los Angeles, having the time of my life, with the love of my life. But I know that she'd be happy for me.

And on this day or any day, I know that's enough.

I Felt Bad for the Foam Finger

I didn't watch the VMAs last night. I'm over 30 and was a Backstreet fan, so I figured anything important I would catch on the Internet today or the million times MTV reruns one of the two live shows it does every year.

And so after my feeds freaked the f out over Miley Cyrus, I took a look at her performance first. I have never felt so bad for a prop foam finger in my life. Nor for a big booty or back-up dancers that have to try and "twerk" with an oversized teddy bear strapped to their back.

You can tell that MTV was pissed at Robin Thicke for performing on the Colbert Report when Daft Punk backed out. That's the only reason that I can think that they made him perform with her...and let her "sing" parts of his song.

Oddly enough, I wasn't all that offended by the crotch rubbing and grinding Miley was doing. I was more upset about the horrible costumes, the hair buds coming out of her scalp, her perpetual use of her tongue and why she kept putting the microphone out into the crowd during a portion of the song where there are no words.  But I guess lack of logic and talent offends me more than sex.

Thoughts from my pithy friends?

I'm Crawling Out of my Skin

I'm having a few days here when I am not satisfied with anything and I feel like I want to crawl out of my skin. What would I do with the skinless body that I would be? I have no idea. Maybe walk around Hollywood Blvd and freak some people out. Although I'm not sure people would be all that freaked out by a skinless body walking around Hollywood. They don't seem too disturbed by the fact that a guy wearing a cotton costume plays Iron Man every day. I mean, it's IRON MAN! The Fruit of The Loom shit is unacceptable. At least spring for plastic that looks like it could possibly be metal.

See what I mean? I'm going nuts. I realistically know it's just my hormones or chemicals or whatever are out of whack, but logic plays only a marginal role in my thoughts right now. The Cotton Iron Man is about all the logic I can muster. And before people get all judgey, I'll say that my feminine mystique may have me thrown right now, but dudes have moody periods too. They just aren't able to know when they're coming as well.

I digress. Skin. Crawling. I am thankful that I have a plethora of things to do at work this week because then my jumping from one project to the next doesn't seem so schizophrenic. It seems necessary. And it is. But it's also helping me harness this bout of ADHD into something useful and productive. So there's that.

I hope tomorrow will be a more focused day. Because I've got a 4-hour client meeting and a charity concert to go to. So even if I'm not more focused, I'm gonna have to pretend.

Should I have a Pen name?

Chef says that even by writing this, I'm setting myself up to never be able to be anonymous in my writing and he's probably right, but I still can't but wonder: Should I have a pen name?

I'm thinking of this for a couple of reasons:

1. I could start over...kind of. If I were to use a pen name, I could develop social media outlets, a blog, and a persona that is 100 percent just for my personal writing. Since I've learned so much since starting all this a while ago, I feel like I could grow it.
2. Let's face it: having an audience is a plus for marketing a book. If I ever get to the point where I can get an agent, having an audience built in is a great way to be all that much more appealing to a publisher. I should know. I used to work for a publisher. 
3. I can stop censoring myself. You might not believe that I censor myself, but it's true. One of the things that make me fairly good at my PR job is that I know how to tailor my communications to my audience. This skill that serves me so well during the day time is a HUGE problem when I'm writing. I need to shake off the images of my family and friends who might be reading my stuff and just write what I want to. When I look back on my old blog posts, when I was young and dumb and didn't care about my professional persona, I see how fearless I used to be when just laying it out there. Not so much any more.
4. I could have one place where I could completely be myself...by using another name. The irony (and ACTUAL irony--not just Alanis Morrisette kind of irony) of having to use a pseudonym to completely be myself is not lost on me. It just shows me even more clearly what I've always known. There is a work me. There is a writer me. There is an at-home me. Two of the three can be together in the same room, but never all three at the same time. 

I may never make it as a writer, but that doesn't mean that I'm going to stop trying. What do you think? AM I crazy?

Let's Play a Game: "Which of these DIDN'T Happen?"

Not the chamber from this particular city
council meeting, but they all mostly look alike.

Sometimes my job takes me to great places. Sometimes it takes me to city council meetings. If you've never been to a city council meeting, I suggest you go. It will make you extra sure that you vote for city council the next time an election rolls around.

If you really want to be entertained, go to a city council meeting in a small town. To say they are a little less formal is an understatement. They are simultaneously enthralling, wince-inducing, boring, and will leave you going "what the hell just happened here?".

As an example, you can play my game called "Which of these didn't happen at a recent city council meeting that Ashley attended?". Ready to try? Here goes:

• There was a reference to the mayor's recent perjury indictment.
• A man whose dog was shot by a police officer and it was put on YouTube spoke about getting the police officer fired
• Aforementioned man spoke on the day he was arraigned on six charges related to the incident that had him in handcuffs and caused his dog to charge the aforementioned police officer
• Animal rights groups brought a petition with 100,000 signatures on it demanding the firing of the aforementioned police officer
• A small urn of dog's ashes were set on the lectern while someone who did not own the dog spoke
• An executive with the airport authority spoke about his encounter with a councilwoman who threatened him with harassment charges
• Aforementioned councilwoman and airport executive got into a heated exchange during the middle of public comment portion of the meeting
• The mayor stopped the meeting to have the group sing happy birthday to a 95 year old resident who regaled the crowd with details of her family's trip to San Diego as their celebration of her birthday
• Aforementioned 95 year old resident was at the microphone to complain that children ride their bikes too quickly through her driveway and she is afraid she will hit them with her car without some police intervention. 
• Horrible grammatical errors on protest signs including the spelling of vagrants as "vegrants."
• A candidate for mayor announcing his candidacy during his time at the podium for public commentary. 

Did you guess? If you said they ALL happened, you'd be correct. And those weren't even the issues why I was attending. CRAZY!!! Cheaper than a movie with all of the drama.

Although there was no smoking in the city council meeting I went to. Not so much of an issue in Vicco, Ky. Check this out:

The Colbert Report
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Wine + Good Food + Work friends= Good Summer Outing

Last year's summer outing was a raucous affair with not so hidden flasks and a tour of Hollywood. This year was much more subtle, but still had some good alcohol.

For our work's summer outing, we headed to Malibu Wines, this vineyard tucked in the Malibu Hills that let's you taste beautiful wines and then hang out in their cool vineyard. We brought some delicious food from Food Lab and played games and just had a wonderful time.

Don't you wish your summer outing was like this? :)

The Porter Novelli SoCal team (why do I always work some place with only one dude?)

I'm not sure if that was real wine in the fountain, but it was really wine colored and almost stained my shirt.
That's what I get for trying to be funny. 

Dead soldiers from our afternoon. They served us well. 

This is the artwork that greets people as they come in. I need this at home. 

My friend Meredith using the macro setting on her phone to get up close and personal with some grapes. 

The view from the tasting area

Our little neck of the vineyard. The estate has zebras, llamas, camels and all kinds of crazy stuff. 

Because I love to watch Matt Damon in Anything. . .

In honor of the new Matt Damon movie, Elysium, coming out this week, please enjoy this video of him dancing with Stephen Colbert to "Get Lucky." Oh and there are a bunch of other people too. But there's 8 whole seconds of Matt Damon, so it's totally worth the 5 minutes.

The Colbert Report
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So I Almost Got into a Fight Over 12 Cents

My injury

Last weekend I was doing my weekly grocery shopping and had an incident that had my adrenaline going hardcore. I pulled into the checkout right behind a woman who left her cart with a few items still in it blocking me. She saw me looking at her and said "I might not get those items. I'm on a budget."

I told her that I understood, but could she please move her cart forward so that I could unload my items. She gave me a look but then obliged my request. She told the cashier that she only had $13. The bill, even with the items she put aside, was $15.15. She pulled an item out and it came out to $13.88. I knew that this was going to be one of those awkward situations so I stayed back as to not get up in the woman's mix. She proceeded to put the bill on one credit card and two gift cards. She was still 88 cents short, so she fished a dollar out and paid for the rest of her bill. She packed up and moved on.

She had left and my items were being rung up. I was almost complete when she charged back in.

"Where's my change?" she demanded to the cashier. The cashier explained that she believed the woman took her change from the automatic change dispenser. The lady was adamant that she hadn't. That's when things shifted to me.

"Did you take my change?" she said to me.

I said no, I hadn't. However, she did not seem to believe. At this point, she kept saying that I took her change and then insisted that if I took her money, she would take mine. Then she reached for my hand that was clutching my debit card as I was getting ready to pay. It happened quickly and I was able to push her back. That's when security intervened.

The long of the short of it is was that the woman HAD taken her change and it was in her purse. But I had to put up with her all because of 12 cents.

Plus I suffered a broken nail. Even grocery shopping can be entertaining!

My Conversation With a Porn Star

I meet all kinds of people in
our apartment fitness center.

Here's how I know that I live in LA: I had a conversation with a porn star this morning without leaving my apartment complex. 

I was in the complex gym getting my cardio on when I noticed a short, thin very blonde woman in full make-up and false eyelashes working out. I recognized her instantly as our resident porn star. Before I get accused of making assumptions about someone based on how they look, I will back this statement up with proof beyond her looks that she works in the industry. 

Two years ago, Chef was outside on our patio very early one Sunday morning and spotted a man getting out of a Honda Accord, going to the back and peeing on the side of the road. This man was none other than the Hedgehog himself, Ron Jeremy. Ron then proceeded to greet the small blonde woman mentioned above as she exited the apartment complex with the following:

"Are you ready to ______ some ______ today?" 

I'm not really a shy person, but honestly, I think the blanks are better. You can put so many different words in there and come up with something that's probably similar to what was said. Actually, you can probably put two very innocuous words in there and it still sounds dirty. For instance "Are you ready to hug some koalas today?". Just sayin'.

Anyway, she started a conversation with me and I immediately noticed her either Russian or some other Slavic country accent. She was sporting green velour pants with a matching hoodie and a hot pink t-shirt. All of which were adorned with rhinestones spelling out various things that I didn't have time to read. She asked me if I worked out so early every day, and I said that I was actually running about 30 minutes later today than usual. 

"It's just crazy to work out this early. I mean, don't you get tired by the afternoon?"

I said that I didn't because I went immediately to work so I had to do it then. It was 7 a.m. Early, sure, but not absurdly so. 

We then chatted about the poor cell phone reception of the complex and the spotty function of the TVs in the fitness center. She was nice and I have a feeling she didn't talk to women a ton. She just gave off the impression that she was thankful for even a seemingly uneventful conversation. 

I have to say that between here, the bad ass disabled lady, the very odd screenwriter and the creepy roadie for several bands, I have met the oddest assortment of people in our complex's weight room. And I kinda like that.